


achilles come down

by laurelsalexis



Series: bullets in the dark [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Robb Stark, Biting, Character Death, F/M, Masturbation, Organized Crime, Past Rape/Non-con, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurelsalexis/pseuds/laurelsalexis
Summary: They are enemies or they are supposed to be. aka the start of the Robb x Dany mafia AU no one asked for, but I wrote anyway.
Relationships: Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robb Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling
Series: bullets in the dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117682
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	achilles come down

**Author's Note:**

> part 1 in what is basically a mafia au. i wanted to write robb x dany and canon was making my brain hurt so i went this route. a little dark. a little trashy. 100% self indulgent. 
> 
> title is from achilles come down by gangs of youths.

Even from birth Robb never stands a chance. He knows that now. His birth to Ned and Catelyn Stark guarantees that. He still doesn’t find himself ready to accept his fate so he doesn’t. He keeps his status in the military and decides to not bother with accepting the position in the family that is his by birth, refusing the notion that he has no choice in the matter. It’s hardly fair the way he thrusts it upon Jon. His brother accepts it with a certain grace that Jon always has. He assumes it’s because his status within the family has always been precarious at best. Their father always treated him as his own son, but his mother is another story entirely. Too many moments in his childhood he wish she would let it go already. 

What’s done is done. Jon is a permanent fixture whether she wishes it to be or not.

The one time he mentions his thoughts to his mother he’s sixteen, his cheek is red for the rest of the evening and the talking to by his father proves to be another thing entirely. 

Now, his eyes rest upon the statue of their father in the family crypt. It’s all they have left of him. A statue that Robb cannot decide whether there is any true likeness to him or not. He rests next to Lyanna. It’s where he wants to be if he cannot be with them anymore. His fingers tighten around the bottle of gin that tastes like ass. Only he’s tasted actual ass, a memory that leaves a bitter taste in the back of his throat, far worse than anything coming from the bottle. He doesn’t allow himself to think of Theon or he swears one day he’s going to completely lose it and kill him. In their line of work murder is the answer. 

His code is strict. He develops it the moment he’s handed his own gun. He won’t kill anyone he loves, he won’t rape anyone, and he will not kill just because he can. Robb needs a reason or the person gets to keep breathing. It’s a way to keep him from losing his identity entirely. He knows that Ramsay goes off the deep end and hits all of those. Not that he seems to be capable of love. He’s heard the tales of the women he’s raped and killed just because it’s the power trip that gets his cock hard. There’s a disgust that fills Robb. Maybe none of them can be considered good people but he’s sure as shit better than Ramsay. 

It’s why he can’t explain Theon’s train of thought in leaving him for _Ramsay_ of all people. 

The bottle rises to his lips as he takes a too long swig of the preferred drink of his father. He swears he could vomit up the liquor with how poor it tastes, but he manages to keep it down. If a decomposing body doesn’t raise the bile from his stomach some piss poor tasting liquor isn’t going to do it. 

After a little too long of resting his eyes against the statue he decides it’s terrible. It doesn’t look like his father at all. He thinks about getting it redone. It can wait. He pours some of the gin over the statue, one last drink for the old man that has shaped his entire life, before he turns and walks back up the stairs into the main part of the house. 

The wedding ring suddenly feels heavy on his hand as he feels even more cemented into his fate. He and Jeyne have been married a few months. Sometimes he thinks he really does love her, other times he freezes her out so she’ll leave him alone, but most of the time he uses her as a nice, warm cunt that can keep him from thinking so damn hard.

He really needs to stop using sex as a bandaid for his problems. It’s how he got into the mess he’s in. 

He’ll work on that later. 

As he passes by the living room his gaze shifts to his mother sitting at the table with that blank look on her face. It’s the look she’s held ever since they got the news. His hand lands on her shoulder, squeezing softly, staying right behind her as her hand moves to meet his. Robb would do anything to take this pain away from her and the rest of them. No one really seems to be taking it well. Rickon is taking it the worst. At the ripe age of ten he hasn’t been brought up to speed of exactly how their family operates. 

Robb is the one who has to have that talk now. He decides to wait until he’s twelve if only for the reason that he doesn’t want to tell him the harsh truth of why their father was murdered. 

“I made dinner.” She whispers as her hand rests back down on the table, fingers moving to twist her wedding ring. “It’s warm in the oven if you want some.” 

“Not hungry.” His diet is quite poor as of late. He eats far too many tacos he gets from the shop on the corner. His mind is reeling as he tries to put everything in order when everything is most definitely not okay. Food doesn’t register. 

“When do you deploy?”

The elephant in the room. He remembers the day he came into the house to tell them he enlisted. His mother looked as if she was going to cry. Somehow, fighting a war is far more dangerous than being the eldest son of a family that does their dealings through shady practices that often leave dead bodies wasting away in the vast land of the North. His father said nothing. He doesn’t regret his actions and is almost grateful to have to be somewhere. He’s running in a sense, trying to forge a normal life for himself, but he will come back. He always does. He’ll take up his position when his last tour is over. He’s already made the decision to retire. His family needs him. The _North_ needs him. 

“Tuesday.” It’s too soon and too far away all at once. “They said to prepare myself to be gone in a year.”

“A year?” Catelyn inhales sharply. “I should make some calls. I am certain we can have this done away with.” 

“Don’t.” He moves to her side, leaning against the table as he looks at his mother. “I do my duty. I need my word to be good for something. Jon will be here until I return.”

Her jaw hardens but she remains silent.

“Mother, _please_.” A soft plea. “Let Jon handle everything and when I get back you can go back to hating him.” He wants to tell her Jon was a kid who did nothing wrong but he doesn’t. Instead he pushes himself from the table because arguing with his grieving mother is not anything he is up for currently. He wants to finish this gin and eventually go home to see his wife who excused herself a few hours ago when she had to have dinner with her own mother. “I signed up for this and I do not need -”

“- your mother to get you out of it.” She finishes for him. “I know.”

The piercing sound of his phone ringing fills the room, even with the device in his pocket. When he pulls it out he sees the name on the ID before looking at his mother who watches him with a certain concern.

“Jeyne?” She asks. “You should answer it.”

“Yeah.” He lets it ring once more as he walks to the privacy of the office off the living room. It is the place where his father spent so much time. Robb is the only one who has stepped foot in here since. The door shuts behind him just as he clicks the answer button without actually giving a greeting.

“I’m sorry about your father.” She whispers quietly on the other end.

He plops himself down in the chair and lets out a sigh. Of relief? Of pain? Of _want_? No, he’s not going there. It’s been too long since he’s last heard her voice. He hates what they’ve become. “He’s been dead two weeks.”

“Robb, don’t.”

“What?” He takes a sip of the gin. Much more and he’ll be stuck until he is sober enough to drive and not wrap himself around a pole. “Guess I should be grateful you called me at all after two years.” 

“I shouldn’t have called you at all.”

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have, Daenerys. So why did you?”

They’ve always been _complicated_. They were teenagers when they both nearly died in a hit that was meant for Viserys and he took her up against the wall, hot and heavy, listening to her pant in his ear. If he closes his eyes he thinks he might still be able to feel the way her fingers dug into his biceps as she begged him to fuck her harder. They aren’t teens now. Those days are long behind them both. There’s no place for a quickie to live in his mind. He’s now married to Jeyne and she’s married to a guy named Khal Drogo he’s never met but heard some pretty fucked up stories about. 

It’s not to say they stopped talking to one another entirely. Just mostly. He called her once a few weeks into her marriage. She told him in a matter of fact tone that her husband raped her and he wanted to put a bullet in the man’s brain. He didn’t as she went on that she loved him and whatever other horseshit she had to in order to get through the marriage. He offered to help her and she denied for reasons that definitely had to do with her own family politics that he can understand from his own experiences. In turn he shared his own shotty start with Jeyne. Thinking your ex-boyfriend murdered your little brothers while high as fuck on pills isn’t exactly same. He doesn’t think about it because then he has to think that maybe if he hadn’t been so high he could barely process his own name and struck with such grief maybe he wouldn’t have done it at all. Now they’re married and he loves her. He _thinks_ . Sometimes he gets high just to see if the feelings from that night return, the _good_ ones.

They never do.

“I don’t know.” 

“Okay.” There are so many more things he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead he lets them sit on the line in a nice, comfortable silence before his mind feels like it’s going to suffocate him.

“Don’t die out there.”

“I won’t, _princess_.” He hangs up the phone and doesn’t know if it’s even a promise he can even keep.

When he goes home to Jeyne that night she’s already asleep when he gets in the bed. Or so he thinks because she doesn’t move even as he makes a little too much noise sorting himself for bed. 

“Let me in, Robb.” She whispers without turning to look at him. “I want to help you.”

“I’m trying, Jeyne. it's just hard.” He can try harder. He can open himself up to her. He can tell her everything. Something inside of him keeps her at a distance so the excuse falls easily off his lips.

“I know.”

* * *

Spending five months stuck in the hell that is Essos does nothing for his mental state. It’s hot where he prefers cold. It’s war torn. He’s tired. He wants nothing more than to sleep in a real bed and eat a real meal. A real shower where he can stand under the hot water and jerk off as much as he wants is another fantasy of his. One day he will go home and he’ll be living the reality of the fleeting thoughts that keep him from getting himself blown up. 

Fantasies are what keep him going. Sometimes when he’s having a moment for himself he fists his hand around his cock at a furious pace so he doesn’t get caught by the other men he’s trying to be friends with. His masturbatory fantasies should be of Jeyne. She is his wife, after all. She is the one he calls and sometimes writes. It’s her tits in the pictures he has hidden in his things. They are of her, _mostly_ . Really, she does have great tits and an ass he is going to bend over the second he gets the chance. Other times the fantasies are of Theon down on his knees or Daenerys with his cum dripping down her thighs. One time he has an all too messed up fantasy of fucking Daenerys, whispering all sorts of dirty little things about he’s going to knock her up, she’s going to be carrying his kid, let everyone know she is _his_. The image of her belly swollen with his kid does things to him. 

It’s a fantasy that makes him cum. That’s it. Means nothing. He ignores that he doesn’t fantasize about knocking Jeyne up.

The night is dark as he closes his eyes trying to sleep. He doesn’t sleep much anymore. That’s when he moves his hand to fist around his aching cock. He’s gotten good at being quiet and taking care of his needs without causing much of a fuss. Or if anyone notices that he masturbates what seems like all the bloody time they don’t say anything. It’s not his wife in his visions. It’s a girl with silver hair and violet eyes that seem impossible. They’ve only had sex once. It doesn’t mean the desire isn’t there, otherwise. But he’s really trying not to cheat on his wife and well, he barely talks to her. Even before getting stuck in the pits of hell she isn’t one to reach out. 

Fantasies aren’t real.

All married people have them, sometimes about people they aren’t married to. What Jeyne doesn’t know won’t hurt her. His brain shuts off just as he imagines her bent over the hood of his car. The skirt of her dress up as his cock thrusts into her pretty wet cunt over and over as she squeezes around him. She’s begging and screaming for more as his hand keeps her wrists pinned against her back like he’s some damn cop trying to arrest her instead of being a place to mark his territory. He just wants to fuck her over and over until she’s filled with his cum and not anyone else’s. 

It’s possessive. The whole fantasy has him wanting to mark her as his. As if he really is the damn wolf they think he is, taking the pretty little dragon, making her his, and letting his teeth mark her. He cums in his hand just as he cums in her in his fantasy. 

He really has to get a grip on all of this. 

At least it finally lends him to get some sleep. She isn’t in his dreams. Instead he dreams of the war he’s stuck in. Nothing special happens in them. It’s mundane. It seems his brain only focuses on the stuff plaguing him during the day when he’s doing his best to avoid never ending flying bullets. 

The day seems normal as he breaks into a sweat as he and the guys he spends his every day with are huddled in a circle. There’s some talk of strategy, some talk of what kind of real food would be nice to eat, and one last conversation of wondering if it would ever rain so they can get a little bit of relief. He feels it in the air, though. Something is different. _Wrong_. It’s the feeling he has when he’s about to get shot at. At home and in the desert. 

Robb stiffens when he notices the way the Colonel walks towards him. “What happened?”

“We should speak of this in private, Major.” 

Robb runs through the list of people he’s close to in his head and the thought of losing any of them feels too much. He also holds instant regret for being in a war of his own free will when his connections could get him placed on leave, if nothing else. Or he has a romantic notion that his livelihood outside of his military paycheck can solve any problem. It can. It’s all about who you know and he knows a lot of people who pretend they don’t know who his father is, _was_. 

“Tell me.” 

The Colonel walks off a few steps so Robb has no choice but to follow. He watches him intently as his heart beats a little too fast and he almost feels as if he has to remind himself to breathe. It’s the nerves, the mystery of it all, and the sheer panic that is etching over his every feature. 

“Catelyn Stark was killed two nights ago.” He informs in that removed tone of voice they always had when delivering bad news. “She was found with her throat slit. We give our condolences and have already given you leave to deal with this matter at home. After the loss of your father we know you will need some time.” 

He swallows, giving no emotion, even though he can feel as if his heart is breaking in his chest. 

It’s too much.

“Thank you.” 

Everything goes by in a blur. It feels as if one moment he is joking with the guys about food and in another moment he is standing in his living room dressed in black because they need to leave for the funeral. It’s not that simple. He remembers the long flight, the tears, the screaming Sansa has done at him, the clinging Rickon has done, and the way Jeyne has done her best to soothe the ache that grows with every family member that is lost. 

The funeral has too many people. There are faces he knows and others he doesn’t. His mother’s career in politics has only made her death appear in the media far more than Robb feels comfortable with. He worries more than he did before. Pushing everything on Jon and his mother so he could go to the desert for a war he doesn’t believe in has brought them here. It’s unfair for him to act the leader he should have been from the moment his father left Winterfell to go talk to Robert Baratheon. 

He was playing the role of a boy and now he needs to be a man.

Jeyne holds his hand as they go through the ceremony. It’s long and tedious as they all say their last words. Mostly he tunes everyone out in an effort to preserve his own memories of her. The casket is closed since she had her throat slit and they all agreed it was best for her to not be seen in such a state. 

He steps forward and places a white rose on the casket before they lower it, _her_ , into the ground.

Robb abandons the wake the moment he can. He shakes enough hands so everyone knows he was there before slipping out so he can look through the files Hornwood gets for him. His childhood bedroom has files scattered all over the place. Things are written on, post it notes are scattered, and he has too many ignored calls to even want to look at his phone.

He doesn’t need pity. He needs answers. 

Except something is nagging at him and he needs his phone to stop the nagging. When he glances down at the number on his phone it’s Wylla this time. Any other time he likes talking to her, but now he has no interest. Instead he waits for it to go to voicemail before he picks up the phone and dials the number that is still all too familiar. 

“Tell me you didn’t kill my mother.” His voice is sharp but pleading. He needs to know that the Targaryens had nothing to do with this because it might drive him to the brink. 

“I didn’t kill your mother.” Daenerys whispers, voice filled with pity. “I would never do that, Robb. I lost my own mother.” 

“Your mother died in childbirth.” He barks out as it is most definitely not the same. “Mine had her throat slit like the junkies looking for a score when they came across the wrong dealer.” 

“I looked through all of the intel I could get my hands on.” She replies coolly. “It wasn’t us. Try the Lannisters.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Robb.” 

She hangs up before he has a chance to say anything else to her and it’s for the better. He’ll demand more information she shouldn’t give. They are enemies. Their families haven’t gotten along much in the last twenty-five years and he knows just because the two of them do doesn’t mean the bad blood is gone. If anything it’s only getting worse.

He can feel the way the entire country is on the brink. Someone is murdering his family in the same way someone is murdering everyone else’s family. Things are coming to a head and he is the outsider looking in because he wants to pretend he is a normal guy who is married and going to start a family of his own one day instead of giving everything he has to the family that is still there no matter how far he tries to run away.

Answers are hard to come by even as he sends people on errands and locks himself in the room until he actually has to try to keep them together. He makes dinner that no one eats as they settle around the table where no one speaks. The seat where his father used to sit is empty and the same is true for the seat where his mother often sat. Now it’s just the children that remain trying to hold a dynasty together without being at each other’s throats. 

The knock on the door is a welcome and unwelcome interruption from the brewing silence between them all. Mouths have opened just to close when they each come to realize there is nothing that is the right thing to say in the moment. He glances at Jon who is just as puzzled as he is. It’s not exactly the night for visitors. 

His eyes shift to Sansa briefly. She still has that blank look on her face just like his mother used to have. All he can think of is the night before. She’s been upset with him for months. Before their father’s death, even. Now she seems to hate him. She was screaming at him for a solid fifteen minutes before her emotions got the better of her and she screamed at him about how Ramsay raped her. Even though his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, a protective gesture, he has been itching to put a bullet right between Ramsay’s eyes for the harm he’s displayed to those he is meant to be loyal to.

It has to wait. 

He and Jon both stand opposite of the door. One last look is shared between them as they see a young boy standing on the other side. 

“ _Achilles_.” 

Robb knows the meaning. He takes the box from him and shuts the door. The word came from Daenerys when they were teenagers. After years he still cannot describe the time in his life. They weren’t dating but they weren’t friends. They were enemies while still being molded into what their families wanted. She came up with it. A name she called him once. He had only the slightest weakness and she said it reminded her of him. It developed into a code word over the years. It was safe. One of them could say the word and suddenly, they were fine. 

Jon doesn’t ask who the box is from and he thinks he just might know. But as long as they don’t talk about things they won’t be real. Just like Robb doesn’t ask about the hickey on Jon’s neck. 

He takes the box up to his room as Jon sits on the other side. There’s no one he trusts more and he’s grateful to have him there by his side. 

“Find anything?” Jon asks as he sets his empty bottle of beer on the floor. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. There is a lot of intel that Viserys will lose his goddamn mind over Robb having so he decides to put it in the safe in the crypt when they are done. Only he and Jon have the code. She doesn’t need to be skinned for him.

His leave ends with them no closer to finding out the truth about what happened. Instead he has more questions as he slips into barking orders, setting up accounts, and allocating for funds that he has no real need for. 

Jon will take care of it like he always does. 

It feels like a mistake, but now there is nothing to be done. He needs to finish the last few months before he can come home and dive into the underground world that is calling his name. He kisses Jeyne one last time as he thinks of everything that is pulling him.

He’s ready for the darkness and almost feels eager to be consumed.

It’s the only way to protect what is his. 

* * *

He blinks a few times.

The lights seem too bright and too artificial. It's not the sun and he doesn't feel warm. He hurts he realizes as he tries to sit up only to not move and whatever is down his throat gives him a brief sense of panic. He only moves a little before the figure he can't really make out is saying something and his eyes are shut once more. 

The next time he wakes the tube is gone from his throat. He still can't sit up and that annoys him. His hands move to his chest as he feels around. The pressure is too much and he has to bite down on his tongue to keep from screeching out. Robb has always hated being perceived as weak. He _is_ weak as he is stuck there with injuries that leave him bedridden and at the mercy of others. 

He shifts slightly. The pain burns through his entire body. His memory is hazy at best, but he can vaguely remember the incident that lands him there. The open fire, the yelling, and the fact that they were scarcely on the edge of actual combat. 

_Friendly fire._

"Let me call the nurse." 

Jon's voice has him turning his head. "Wait."

Jon stops and turns to him. He's always has an excellent poker face and it's on his features now. "Let me get the nurse."

This time Jon slips out of the room before Robb can croak out anything else. When he returns the nurse pokes and prods at him before changing his bandages and letting him know to push the button if he needs any more pain killers. It's not his first time stuck in a hospital bed so he knows the drill. 

The pain isn't on his mind, nor the events out in Essos that he has more questions about. "Where is Jeyne?"

Jon sits down and says nothing for far too long. 

"Jon -" 

He puts his hand up before he shifts in the seat. "She's missing."

"What?" 

"No one has seen her since Wednesday. She came to visit you once but after that she disappeared. Sansa filed the missing person's report."

"Why are you sitting here?" He barks out. "You should be finding her."

"We have a theory."

Robb groans in frustration from being in the bed and the fact that Jon is only talking in bits and pieces instead of giving him the information he wants. "I will rip this IV out of my arm if you don't start speaking, Snow."

“Whoever set up your hit killed her when you didn’t die. It’s just a theory. We don’t have any proof yet.” 

Sometimes when he is resting he gets flashes. He’s in Essos, guys he has come to be friends with coming towards him, Jaime Lannister’s name coming off their lips. He isn’t certain what is true and what is the product of the drugs they have him on. He needs a better rundown of events that happened in the last couple of... _weeks_? He doesn’t even know the date or what month they are in. 

“We don’t think it’s one person killing everyone either.” He has some files in his hand that he pulls them from a bag on the floor. “This sums it up. I can’t stay. Arya is coming by in about an hour and I have to take care of something.” 

Robb nods. It’s not really the place for these types of conversations. He does his best to sit up in bed as he glances over the files. “I’ll be fine.” 

From the date on a few of the documents Robb assesses he’s been in the hospital for two weeks. Two weeks that somehow feels like two months. None of it really makes sense to him since he’s out of the loop. He’ll ask Jon all the questions later. All he can see is that Jeyne’s family has been working with the Lannisters. Tywin, mostly. Cersei always pretends to keep her hands clean even though she has more power than most people believe. Robb believes it. He’s never heard a rumor about her he hasn’t believed, _including_ the father of her children. 

It only leads to him wondering how far Tywin’s pull is if they organized this entire thing in Essos? And why would Jeyne’s mother sacrifice her own child? She’s batshit and hates him. He gets that, but her own daughter? There’s a missing piece of the puzzle he isn’t putting together. The thought of Jeyne being in on it crosses his mind. He doesn’t think he can believe that. She doesn’t have much to gain if he dies, regardless. _Money_. If it’s only about money he’d rather just give her money and be done with it. Seems that it would be easier than going through this whole mess. 

He likes clean jobs. He got that from his father. Always something that cannot be tied back to them, but this is messy. If they can find all this out from sitting in the North there’s no way the other regions are left in the dark.

Again, _why_? 

He grows tired just as Arya walks in the door. She hugs him as best as she can with his awkward position on the bed, leaning a bit too much on the wounds on him that are still fresh.

“Is Sansa still mad at me?” 

"A little." Arya shrugs. "She's always upset about _something_."

“Are you two getting along?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, though he can deduce the answer from her tone. 

“Sansa barely gets along with anyone.” She answers as she sits in the chair, kicking her feet up on the edge of the bed. “She’s glad you’re not dead, though. Even if she won’t say it.” 

His bond with Sansa is fractured. Beyond repair, he thinks, but he’ll try when he gets out of there. She can’t freeze him out forever. For now, he focuses on the sister that isn’t mad at him. Turns out she's dating someone named Gendry and Robb has to wonder where he gets a name like that. She met him on some mission and he doesn't really question it. He doesn't have the energy to. She’s on the edge of giving him a bit too much detail when he stops her with a threat of his own. It leads with them both smiling and Gods, he really misses smiling.

By the time he is released from the hospital the military formally gives him a discharge. It's good because he knows he needs to be home now. Especially after everything. He also knows they are doing it to cover their asses for whatever in the seven hells happened out there. 

He was naïve before and now he can't afford to be. 

When they find Jeyne's body it's down by the Twins. At least that is what Hornwood let's him know. The detectives on the case aren’t telling him much of anything. He sits in the room with the pain in his ribcage and shoulder throbbing. He’s off the painkillers so he doesn’t seem high to them and because he’s tired of Sansa or Bran driving him everywhere. Sansa is quiet most rides as they try to fracture whatever bond they have left and Bran is working up his hours to get his license. Often he doesn’t think he’s going to make it out of the car alive. 

“You’re not a suspect.” The detective comes in and takes a seat. 

“Because I have an alibi.” He says with his hands on the table in front of him. “Hard to kill your wife when you’re stuck in a hospital bed.”

“Do you know anyone who wants your wife dead?” 

He shrugs. Recently he feels himself putting forth the hard exterior his father had so often. His face is steely, unwavering, and if he didn’t have such a solid alibi he would definitely be suspect number one. “Same people who wanted my parents dead, I suppose.”

“We would like to offer you protective detail.”

“Don’t need it.” 

The elephant in the room is that they both know exactly the type of man he is. The Starks are known as well as any of the others. They keep their business quiet usually. Lots of matters take place in the North and no one with any sense ever makes it any higher than the Neck if they know what’s good for them. 

“Am I free to go?” Robb stands no matter what. It’s a waste of his time. Whoever they arrest for her murder is going to be someone set up to get the cops to leave them alone. It was the same with Lyanna and Rhaegar. At least they haven’t insulted him with doing that with either of his parents. 

He plans the funeral almost mindlessly. He’s been through so many of these it feels unimportant. It’s quiet. He only allows people from the North to come and her brothers. He strictly forbids her parents from coming and in turn her parents don’t let her sister come. They think it’ll make him cave, but he’s capable of being cold and calculating when he wants to be. 

He gets the hell out of Winterfell the moment the funeral is over. Even as they ask him where he is going he shuts the door on the curious questions and _drives_. 

They think he’s deep with grief. He is, in some ways, and in other ways he is operating on autopilot. He’s spent the last week getting the briefings and Jon looks almost relieved that he doesn’t have to make all of the choices. It’s the person making all the choices that has the heaviest burden. 

As he drives into White Harbor he feels a sense of peace. He’s not a frequent visitor around those parts but it’s a safe haven. Always has been. Sometimes it feels as if it’s another land altogether. 

He parks his car before he gets out. It’s just him as he stands on the edge of Seal Harbor. The water crashes in the distance as the weather will turn within the hour. He wraps his jacket around him a little tighter as he inhales the air of the sea. He’s already paid off a few guards to go and take a break so he can remain there without interruptions. 

No one is allowed in the uppermost part where he rests against the stone. 

The faint sound of footsteps behind him causes him to turn. No greeting comes from either of them as he places his arms around her and inhales the scent. She always smells like Dragonstone, if that place has a scent. She says it’s her perfume the last time he mentioned it. He disagrees. It’s Dragonstone and somehow, it’s comforting to him. 

He can really use some comfort without someone wanting something from him.

The tears that fall from him come before he can stop him. The grief has been strong for the past seven months. It’s too much for one person to handle without breaking a little bit. He’s not cold and as calculating at his core, only when he wants to be. He’d love to take every person down from every enemy family but he doesn’t. What good would killing Tommen do because of his brother’s crimes? None.

“Shh, it’s okay.” She whispers so softly he barely hears it as her fingers brush through his curls. “It’s okay, Robb.” 

He stays in her arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck for just a little too long. He pulls back to wipe the tears falling from his eyes as he moves to rest against the ledge. 

It was their secret spot when they wanted to see one another. Everything between them has always been done in secret. That’s the kind of people they are. His father would have forbade him from seeing her had he known. His mother would have lectured him on having to put his family first. Jeyne would only have questions she was too afraid to ask. 

They’ve been out of contact for so long. 

He’s only kissed Daenerys twice. He still isn’t sure what the feelings inside of him are. Sexual fantasies have been apparent for years, but everything else is muddy. Sometimes he wonders if it’s just because she’s forbidden or if those few months they spent hanging out at eighteen mean something more than he can process now on the edge of twenty-two. 

Nothing real happened to tug them apart. 

Life and duty, did. 

Viserys has always watched her every move to keep the reins on her and Jon does the same with him. Jon knows, though. He doesn’t keep anything from him. Jon is the only person he trusts with his life so completely sometimes he feels more like a twin than a person of his own. 

Robb wonders if he hadn’t joined the military if they'd figured it out. Whatever it is. 

Why is he worrying about it when Jeyne is barely dead? His wedding ring rests on his finger too afraid to take it off. An irony since he could barely remember to wear it most of the time.

He and Jeyne were so fragile he knows they would have divorced when it was all said and done.

It doesn’t matter now. 

Another name to add to his list. 

“You’re not wearing your wedding ring.” Robb notes as he crosses his arms in a protective stance over his chest.

“You’re wearing yours.” She returns as she tucks a strand fallen from her braid behind her ear. “Viserys killed Drogo.” Her tone is detached. The same way in that phone call so long ago now. “A month after Ned was killed.” 

“I’m sorry.” The reply is automatic and he struggles to know if he actually means it. 

"This isn't a world made for love. Only vengeance."

"Careful, you sound like _me_." It’s a thought he’s had recently. He doesn’t need love. Even when she stands in front of him looking too regal for her own good. She has the complete Targaryen look now. No one can mistake who she is, just as they cannot mistake who he is. They both have very striking features for the families they have come from. Instantly recognizable. “Are you going to kill your own brother?”

She’s quiet as she carries herself to rest next to him against the wall, keeping a healthy distance between the pair. “I want out.” 

“You want out?” He turns his head, arching an eyebrow at her, trying to not laugh. “There is no out. You know that.” 

“Not out of everything. Out from _him_.” She clarifies. “I’m not going to be a pawn. You can do whatever you want because you’re the eldest son, the leader, and I’m sold off like cattle.”

Her tone takes him back somewhat. It’s then he realizes that she has changed. “What brought this about?”

“I’ve been talking to Arianne.”

“Ah.” He nods. “At least someone talked some sense into you.”

She narrows her gaze as she adopts his same stance. They used to fight all the time. Most of the time over nothing. They have a lot of similar qualities and some intense differences. He doesn’t bite his tongue and neither does she. They both grasp for power and dominance. Push and pull. Give and take. Fire and ice. It’s part of the attraction no doubt. 

“Out with it.” He pushes her and himself off the ledge. “You don’t keep your mouth closed.”

“Nevermind.” 

He shrugs as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one. A habit he needs to quit, but doesn’t. Instead he leans over the ledge, watching the water as the chill comes more swift, wind picking up, moon on the edge of being full. “Leave if you want out so bad.”

“You always make things so simple.” She sighs with a certain tone to her voice. “He’ll hunt me down and kill me.” 

She isn’t wrong. He doesn’t know what he’d do if any of his siblings showed up and told him they were leaving. Not kill them because he has some kind of sense, but he wouldn’t be happy. “He’d kill anyone to get his way. Your brother is off his rocker, Dany. Always has been. Tried to show you that.”

“You’re not a savior, Robb.” 

“I know that.” He inhales the smoke, which is the only thing keeping him from lashing out at her. “Just like you’re more than a pretty face and a warm cunt. You’ve always had power.”

“I let them take it, is what you’re saying?” 

Robb shrugs as he flicks the butt of the cigarette over the edge. “If you want to draw that conclusion then so be it.” 

Her stance softens as she moves closer to him. “Are you going to take my power?”

“I have my own why would I need yours?” 

“Ask them the same thing.” She reaches into his pocket and takes the pack of cigarettes out. 

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Right now.” Dany grabs his lighter as she lights a cigarette. 

Robb stands up a little straighter. It’s dangerous being there with her. Her brother is as mad as can be and Robb will be the next target on the list. That doesn’t make him leave. “Why did you send me those files?” 

“I care about you.” She admits freely as the smoke comes from her mouth. “You’re my friend, Robb.”

“You’re my friend, too.” He thinks that is enough.

“Where are you going?” Her eyebrows furrow as he walks off to the car. 

“It’s going to rain.” He gestures to the sky.

“There’s barely any clouds.”

Robb puts his hand on the car door. “Suit yourself.”

As he gets in the car he isn’t sure she’ll follow. They aren’t teenagers who have naive views of the world before them. They’ve both experienced more tragedy than two people should ever have to face. He puts the key in the ignition, slowly, watching as she stands there and finishes her cigarette. 

“Where you go I’m going.” She says as she slips in the passenger seat. 

He doesn’t smile even if he wants to. “Did you bring a gun?”

“No.”

“The first rule is always to have a gun.” Robb informs her as he pulls off from Seal Harbor. 

“I have guards.” She glances over at him. “They have guns.”

“Where are your guards?” He’s definitely mocking her. “I could take my gun out and shoot you right here and no one would ever know the difference.” 

“Point taken.” She crosses her arms. “I rely on him too much.” 

“Yeah, you do. Tell me you can at least shoot.” 

“I’m not that bad, Robb.” She scoffs, offended. “I have killed someone before.” 

“Have you?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yes.” 

“Who?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Okay.” He has plenty of things he doesn’t really want to talk abou so he won’t push her.

Sure enough the rain starts pouring down as they drive down the line of the coast. 

“How do you do that?” She turns her head to look at him before focusing on the rain soaked windshield. 

“I know these lands. Haven’t you heard the stories? I’m a wolf.” 

She smiles. “As much as I’m a dragon.” 

Robb parks the car and gets out, a soft jog to the shelter of the building as he opens the door for her. 

“Mr. Stark.” They are greeted by the range owner. “My condolences.” 

"Yeah, thanks." It's uncomfortable and he doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't introduce Dany to him. She is too recognizable and while he can easily threaten the man he isn’t ready to take it that far. Robb at least likes to give the person a chance. Probably how he gets himself in as much trouble as he does. He’s working on being more ruthless.

He guides her down the hallway as he ignores the look Daenerys is burning into the back of his head. “If you want everyone to know you are here, be my guest.”

“No.” She shakes her head as she passes by the line of guns on the table. 

He guides her down the hallway and opens the door to the range he always uses when he needs to release some tension or pretend the target is someone he hates. 

"Take your pick."

Dany grabs a revolver and looks over at him. “I feel like I should be in the wild west.” 

“Go on, shoot it.” Robb encourages as he watches her. 

Her braid is long as it falls down the middle of her back with the dress flowy loosely from her frame. She doesn’t look the type to be in a range, firing off a revolver, focusing so intently on the target as if it is a real person. She also doesn’t seem like the younger sister to someone like Viserys. Not that he can say much since he looks like a guy who hasn’t murdered half a dozen in the North for various crimes against his family. 

“I don’t like this one.” She comments as she is finished and picks up an automatic. She focuses on the target and fires a few rounds off. “Not this one either.” 

Robb watches her with interest. She isn’t in her element, but she isn’t out of it either. This _is_ his element. He has spent the last decade around guns. He remembers his dad teaching him to shoot. He misses those moments. They seemed so normal to him and now he knows they aren’t. Nothing is normal. She doesn’t need to learn, though. She just needs to be comfortable. 

Eventually she settles on Glock G43x. Robb has a Glock G17 on his hip. It’s one he has been shooting with for years and he likes the comfort of it. He’s not fancy. 

“Take it. It’s yours.” 

“Thank you.” She says as she holds it. “All of this to get me a gun?”

“Wasn’t my plan.”

“What was your plan?”

“I didn’t have one.” He admits as he takes his own gun out and shoots every round. It’s partially to get his frustration out and partially to show off. He’s a good shot and he knows it. 

She walks over to him, turning her head to see the target, glancing back at him, an elbow going right into his chest. 

“Fuck.” He grits out in pain. 

“Are you okay?” She asks with concern written in her violet eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“Uh, yeah.” He breathes through the pain and knows he isn’t well enough to be out there doing things like this with her or anyone. One wrong move and he’ll be done from the tenderness in his chest and ribs. “I haven’t taken anything for the pain.”

“What happened?” 

“I was injured.” He doesn’t give any more details as he finds himself pushed against the wall. Her hand is undoing the buttons of his shirt. The cool air hits his skin, his eyes not daring to leave hers as he watches her with a curiosity, laced with desire. 

**Dangerous territory.**

“Daenerys -” 

Her fingers gently glide over his abdomen until she’s brushing against the still fresh wounds on his chest. Her fingers press against the bruise on his ribs, causing him to inhale sharply, a _hiss_ , watching her with something that is only desire. Gods, it’s really fucked up as he grabs her wrist and makes her press against the bruise again, feeling it through his entire body. It mixes with something else and now, well now he isn’t thinking of the wife that’s barely dead. He’s thinking of the very alive woman right there in front of him. 

“Do you like that? _Pain_?”

“Seems so.” He whispers as places his hand on her hip, dragging her closer to him. At least he isn’t hard. He’s thinking of anything to keep that reaction from coming to be. “I was injured in Essos. I was in the hospital for a few weeks.” 

“This is a fresh bruise, Robb.”

“I got into a fight with Ramsay Bolton.” He confesses. No one else knows that he went to the place where he knows Bolton hung out. He has a strip club that seems to double as a whore house. He knew he’d be there and he nearly slit his throat in the alley. He only managed to restrain himself for Sansa. He doesn’t know why she wants him alive, but they are barely speaking as it is so he can only hope she wants to kill him herself. “Did a number on me.” 

“What for?”

There’s a small gap in where her dress meets her hip, fingers sliding against her warm flesh. “He needs to learn his place.”

“Did he get the message?” Her fingers trace her name into the pattern of the bruise, watching him, another hand running along the fresh scar near his heart, pads of her fingers carefully increasing pressure. 

“Doubt it.” He breathes, a soft gasp falling from his lips, pressing against her. “He will, though.” 

Her nails press firmly into his pale skin as she drags them down his abdomen. She’s not gentle and he bites down on the inside of his mouth to keep from crying out in pain and pleasure. He’s not ruining the moment. He wants to see how far she’ll push him. 

“Would you kill Viserys if I asked you to?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “You’d have to be ready for an all out war.”

“That’s why I haven’t asked or even done it myself.” She is soft in her voice and rough in her touch as she pushes the sides of his shirt open. Her lips are gentle against him, a contrast to the way she drags her nails through the bruises, around the scar beneath it, as if she’s searching for his fractured rib. Her teeth sink into him, harshly, eager, and he swears he could cum from the sensation. He is hard now. No shame as they play with the fire between them.

Robb knows now that they haven’t seen each other because it would be like this. It wouldn’t matter if they were both married. They’d cross lines.

There aren’t lines to cross now. Only morals that are going to get them in trouble. 

As she pulls from him his eyes glace down to see the marks her teeth have left in him. She says nothing as her hand slips beneath the waistband of his slacks. It only dawns on him now he simply left the funeral and went straight to her. He hasn’t changed out his suit he’s now designated for funerals only. 

He’s going to hell. 

It concerns him. He thinks this is why he’s going to hell and not the countless illegal and nefarious activities he found himself participating in. It’s letting her hand wrap around his cock hours after he buries his wife that breaks the camel’s back, so to speak. 

As she starts to stroke him he gasps, holding onto her tight, gripping her hip with such a force she can’t move even if she wants to. It almost feels like one of his fantasies except he can feel just how real it is now. He can feel the way her teeth bite at his nipple and he cries out against his will. 

He never took her for a biter and now he doesn’t want her to stop. 

It almost makes him cum too fast and after all the shit between them that’s the last thing he wants. 

Robb takes his hand from her hip and places it around herwirst, stopping her. She doesn’t stop, though, her thumb swirls around the head of his cock and with the months without sexual contact he finds himself biting back a moan, feeling the sheer intensity of touch that isn’t his own. He’s tense and needs this, needs her. His brain is off and his cock is the one in control. 

Swiftly, he pushes her back against the wall, her skirts bunched around her hips, pushing her knickers aside until he can feel the wetness in her cunt. It dawns on him they seem to like walls. Two for two. But he doesn’t care as his fingers are inside of her. She’s warm, soft, and wet. She’s taken to stroking him harder, faster, a squeeze that’s just a bit too hard every so often and she’s definitely unleashed something in him.

They’re fucking. Plain and simple. No romantic notions. He just wants to cum and make her cum. 

He pulls back just enough to get his cock free from his slacks before he’s pushing her harder against the wall. Her arms wrap around him, as do her legs, holding her against the wall. It’s hard and fast. He thrusts into her like his life depends on it. She squeezes around him. The sensation is better than in his fantasies. Now he has her there in the flesh as she grinds down against him to ride his cock as she is pinned against the wall, Robb’s breath growing with every movement of his hips taking what is his. 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He moans into her ear, biting down on her lobe.

She pushes his shirt off of him, nails digging in his back, scratching at him. “ _Harder_. Fuck me harder.” 

The demand is one he complies with easily. His hand finds it’s old position on her hip as he holds her against the wall. The tension in his body is pent up and he’s taking it out on her. She hits the wall so hard the rules of the range poster falls to a crash and he doesn’t care if they’re caught. Not here. Not now. Someone could open the door and he’d keep fucking her, cock hitting the deepest parts of her, shifting his angles when she mewls in that way that haunts his dreams. 

Gods, how does she do this to him? 

Her nails are digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood as she quivers around him. His heart is beating rapidly and he’s taking her through the pain in his ribs now. He’ll pay for it later but now his cock is soaked from her, it’s the only thought, getting to that release, making a mess with her, _in_ her. Her breath is heavy as her braid comes undone. He watches her so intently. She’s flushed and holding onto him as her dress is falling around her. Once loose on her chest it’s now entirely shifted, allowing her breast to come free his mouth finds its place, teasing at her nipple, biting it as she did him. Without a warning she cums all over him, scratching and clawing at him, his name echoing in the room.

“Robb, fuck,” she moans loudly, gripping on his shoulders as she bucks against him so wildly as she rides her orgasm out on top of him.

He keeps fucking her hard and fast. He kisses along her neck, until his head is resting on her shoulder, feeling the way she presses her fingers against him, digging her nails into his shoulders. He hopes she bruises and marks him. He wants to remember this. Always remember her sweet cunt around him in the moments where he feels so lost.

He doesn’t feel all that lost right now. 

“Robb,” she pants, whines almost, “I need to cum again.” 

He smirks, that cocky smirk, the one he’s put away for the time being as his life is tragedy and loneliness. That’s gone for now. Now they both have enough pent up energy for a thousand moons. 

His fingers find her clit, brushing against it roughly, not slowly down as she chants his name, eyes squeezing shut. “Open your eyes.” 

She does, _barely_ , looking at him with the pleasure written on her face. It’s overwhelming if the way her lips part and the tears spring in her eyes are anything to go by. 

It’s too much for him to see her like that. So vulnerable. So _his_ . In that very moment she is his and he doesn’t have to be jealous of anyone in her cunt. It’s her cock making her make those noises. It’s his cock she is begging to be fucked harder with. It’s his cock that has already made her cum once and will make her cum again. **His**. Another thrust and he’s coating her walls with his seed, filling her with him and him alone, a possessive streak finding him as she aches to do this until he simply can’t. 

“Yes,” she breathes as she searches for her own release, “fill me. I _need_ your cum, Robb.

Simple words but no less erotic as he rocks against her, letting every last drop of his pent up seed fill her until she has her way as much as he has his.

“Cum again, love,” he whispers in her ear, rubbing at her clit, feeling the mess they are making, “let me see how good you look as you cum all over _my_ cock.” 

She gasps, tightening, arching against him as she rocks against his fingers. He has the pleasure of simply watching her as she makes a mess all over him, holding onto him tighter, lips finding hers for the first time in years. He kisses her softly, keeping her against the wall, holding her towards him. He doesn’t put her down, not ready to lose the closeness, to go back to the reality that awaits them both. 

He just hopes he doesn’t need to wait another four years to find her like this. 

Eventually, they do have to untangle themselves and he tries to put himself back together as she tries to fix her dress. He pulls her braid apart and runs his fingers through the waves that have formed. She fixes her jacket. 

“There are cameras in here.”

“I know.” He looks up to the camera in perfect view of what exactly they were up to. “I’ll take care of it.”

On their way out he slips probably too much money to be rid of the footage. Robb knows better, though. That footage isn’t being deleted. It’s a payoff to keep it quiet. They are enemies. Or are supposed to be. The last time a Stark and a Targaryen found themselves in such a position war broke out and too many people died. 

Viserys is stupid enough to be rash and have his head, just as Robb is impulsive enough to protect what is his without thinking of the consequences. 

That’s exactly why he utters a threat before he slips out the door to meet her in the car. 

“That was reckless.” Daenerys says with an edge of her voice. 

“Yeah, it was.” He glances at her, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “You have to make a choice, Dany. You’re in or you’re out.”

“With you?”

“With this,” he vaguely gestures to the world around them, “with your _brother_. Do you think he’s not going to sell you again? Or kill you if he finds out about this? I’m not asking you for anything. I just want you to protect yourself.” 

“Will you take me to my car?”

“Yeah.” It’s her way of shutting down the conversation so he says nothing. Instead he drives them back down to Seal Harbor. The drive back seems longer than the drive away. As he stops the car she looks at him briefly before getting out. “I’ll call you.” 

“Try not to wait two years this time.”

“I won’t. I just need some time to think.” She leans back in the car and places a kiss on his lips. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

As she gets in her car and drives away he is only left in his mind and that’s a dangerous place for Robb to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://laurelsalexis.tumblr.com/) if you wanna chit chat.


End file.
